


the sea has seen my like before

by rippedgloves



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Exy World Cup, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Scars, andrew doing things for Neil is my favorite thing there's a lot of that, there's a handjob maybe i should mention that, this belongs in the Exy World Cup verse!, this is barely explicit i dont know if the tag is necessary but, this is like angsty and fluffy at the same time I think, this just happened i don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippedgloves/pseuds/rippedgloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before their game against France, Andrew and Neil go to the beach.</p><p>*</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sea has seen my like before

**Author's Note:**

> this story belongs to the Exy World Cup verse, even though I haven't posted the main fic yet. it's set six years after TKM and during the first Exy World Cup.

On Tuesday, they go to the beach.

It’s the day before their match against France, and everyone on their team has been on edge and unbearable since their too-close win against Germany the previous week.  They have to be back at the hotel for the concentration at seven, but if Andrew hears Kevin say something about Jean one more time Neil doesn’t think Kevin will live to tell the story. They’ve been cleared from any press duty for the day so after morning practice Neil drags Andrew into a taxi and gives the driver an address without any explanations, and Andrew just goes with it.

He’s still got mixed feelings about the beach, but it’s one of those things that he makes himself do, nowadays, trying to force the new memories to replace the smell of burning flesh that his brain always picks up whenever he sees sand and the sound of cracking fire he’s always expecting when he hears the waves crashing at the shore.

He knows Andrew knows where they’re going even though he doesn’t say anything, but he keeps glancing Neil’s way—last time they tried going to the beach was two years ago and Neil had a panic attack so bad he almost hit Andrew when he tried to get closer—and there’s something about the tilt of his eyebrows that lets Neil know that he’s on alert. Even after seven years Neil still feels warm all over at the thought of Andrew always watching his back.

They have to walk over a mile after they’re dropped off by the driver because there’s no car access, as it’s supposed to be a private, secluded beach—Neil did his homework and spent the night before googling while Andrew was on his phone call with Bee—but eventually the path that they took opens into a small, empty beach with white, sparkling sand and water clear enough Neil can see fish swimming around.

He drops his bag and kicks off his shoes the second the rocky path becomes sand, holding his breath and running to the shore until he’s knee-deep in the water, keeping his eyes on the ocean and resolutely not looking at his feet sinking in the sand. Once he’s surrounded by water Neil looks back at Andrew, who hasn’t moved from the path, and tension rolls off his shoulder as their eyes lock.

“Hey,” he calls out, grinning, “Get your ass over here, Minyard.”

Andrew gives him an unimpressed look, unmoved, but even from where he’s standing Neil can tell that he is rubbing absentmindedly at his arm bands, his back tense and his free hand balled in a tight fist.

“Come on, there’s no one here,” he tries again, and there’s a flash of something that looks like fear in Andrew’s eyes, “I mean, what if I drown?”

He grins again, for good measure, and Andrew gives him no answer but he starts a reluctant walk towards Neil, stopping just two feet shy of the shore.

“What is it about standing here that’s so interesting, hm?”

“The water’s nice. You can see the fish.”

“The water’s cold. Fish are disgusting.”

“And you’re very optimistic,” Neil replies, his smile widening, and anger flashes in Andrew’s eyes.

Andrew looks like he’s about to turn on his heels and walk back to where the taxi dropped them off, but then his shoulders slack in defeat and he kneels, carefully untying his shoes. He walks up to Neil so that they’re standing only inches apart, moving more than necessary so that he splashes Neil’s legs in the process.  

He’s wearing a short sleeve button down and black shorts, his armbands never missing, and Neil wonders how he hasn’t melted yet in the warm Sydney sun. Neil himself is aching to take his clothes off, sweat rolling off the back of his neck and the small of his back—and if it weren’t for his scars, he would—so he can’t understand how Andrew can look so unaffected in this heat wearing all black.

“This is stupid,” Andrew says, and Neil wants to kiss him, so he turns to face him, lifting a hand and stopping an inch away from Andrew’s cheek.

They’ve spent many years mapping out which parts of their bodies are okay and which are not, but Neil’s getting better every day at identifying the bad days, and there are misses sometimes, they both misstep once in a while, but for the most part Neil can tell when touches are and aren’t welcome.

Andrew grabs Neil’s hand and brings it to the back of his head, forces Neil’s fingers to tangle in his hair and leans closer, “It’s a yes.”

Neil nods and leans in, his eyes closing as Andrew’s pillowy lips meet his own. He keeps his hands on Andrew’s hair, tugging slightly at the strands between his fingers and pulling Andrew closer; in turn, Andrew wraps his arms around Neil, settling his hands on Neil’s lower back and pushing their hips flush together.

Neither of them anticipates the wave that crashes against them, almost toppling them over. Andrew clings to Neil, clutching at his arms forcefully to stop himself from falling into the water, and Neil would honestly laugh at Andrew’s outraged face if he weren’t busy spluttering the saltwater that made its way into his mouth.

He becomes painfully aware of the crisp salty smell, and panic sets in his chest, growing larger as Neil's head whips around frantically, looking out for smoke. Andrew’s grip on his arms tightens, and Neil’s head snaps back to him, the sight startling a burst of laughter out of him, because Andrew’s soaked from head to toe, hair dripping into his face, intensifying the annoyance that’s clear in his eyes.

“How many time are we going to do this before you understand that the beach is a bad idea?” Andrew asks, but he makes no move to walk out of the water.

Neil lifts a hand to move Andrew’s wet hair out of the way and smiles, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Andrew mutters something about him being a stupid martyr, but closes the distance between their mouths nonetheless, and they kiss until their lips feel raw and they can no longer taste the salt on them.

They walk out of the ocean hand in hand, because the beach is still deserted, and Neil grins every time Andrew’s feet sink in the sand and he groans. The wind causes the grains to stick to their legs as they walk and by the time they reach the improvised hut built between the trees, they’re covered in sand. Andrew’s mouth is set in a thin line and his eyes are shooting daggers at Neil, but Neil’s head is somewhere else.

He knows his clothes won’t dry with the crusty sand stuck to it, and he can deal with the discomfort of walking back to the main road and riding a car for an hour in wet clothes, but they’ve got a game in less than twenty four hours and he can’t afford to get sick—it happened during his first championship playing Court and he had to sit out for a game and Kevin gave him so much shit for it Neil swore never to get sick again.

He looks around three times to make sure there really isn’t anyone around before he shoves his jean shorts down and steps out of them. He’s still got his eyes set on Andrew’s as he does it, but he looks down when he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, noticing that it’s Andrew’s, and begins to peel it off with trembling hands.

Strong hands grip his elbows and he lets go of the shirt, his eyes shooting up to meet Andrew, who’s now standing right in front of him. The intensity in Andrew’s eyes almost makes him look away, but Neil forces himself to keep his eyes on him as Andrew’s hands slide from his elbow to catch both of his wrists and bring his arms over his head. Then he reaches for the hem of the shirt and leans closer to Neil, “Yes or no?”

Neil nods, and Andrew pulls it off in one swift motion, dropping it on the floor and placing his hands on Neil’s shoulders, and only then Neil realizes he’s shaking.

“It’s just me,” Andrew whispers in his ear, “There’s no one else here.”

A hand slides to the back of his neck and squeezes, and Neil manages a nod because of it, but he hasn’t stopped trembling and his lungs feel like they’ve caught fire in his chest.

“Abram,” Andrew says again, his voice determined, “There’s no one but us here. This is ours only.”

Neil snaps his eyes open, not remembering closing them in the first place, and finds Andrew’s, warmth beginning to stir in his stomach, chasing the panic away. They look at each other for what feels like an eternity, and Neil doesn’t know if he’s explaining himself or looking for an answer in Andrew’s face, but calm begins to wash over him until Andrew takes a step back from him.

There’s a question at the tip of his tongue and he’s about to ask Andrew if something is wrong, but then the blond's right hand sets at the top of his left armband and he begins to undo it, revealing the pale skin scattered with scars. He repeats the process on his right arm and then lets the black fabric fall to the ground with Neil’s clothes.

“Just us,” Andrew says, walking up to Neil again until their chests bump together, “Yes?”

Neil whispers back a _yes_ and brings his hands up to Andrew’s face, waiting for his nod before cupping his cheeks and bringing their lips together. Andrew’s hands never come up to his waist or his chest the way they normally, but Neil keeps his eyes closed and his hands on Andrew’s face nevertheless. He feels Andrew’s knuckles grazing his chest as he works on his buttons, and smiles so wide into the kiss that Andrew bites him.

When they finally break apart, Neil is breathless and a little dizzy and Andrew is working on undoing his shorts, his shirt already discarded on the floor. Neil's eyes widen as Andrew stands in front of him in only his briefs, his heart already speeding in anticipation, but then Andrew gets on one knee and gathers all of their clothes around them and Neil frowns, confused.

“Here,” Andrew says, and shoves the clothes in Neil’s hands, “It was your idea, _you_ wash them.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon sitting under the trees, waiting for their clothes to dry. Andrew kisses a path down his stomach, licking scar after scar, and Neil is so overwhelmed by the softness of it that he barely notices when a hand sets around him and begins to jerk him off. He comes with Andrew’s name on his lips and the scratch of the sand against his back and he thinks that maybe this will be the memory that pops up first next time he thinks of the beach.

 

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you like! and even if you didn't like! feedback is always appreciated!!  
> my tumblr is foxharryau! come say hi <3


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